


Secrets

by sidewinder



Series: The Spaces in Between [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s03e14: Counterfeit, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 12:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: It's driving Fin crazy, not knowing what John did to his foot.





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece for [SVU Characterization Week](http://svucharacterappreciation.tumblr.com) for Fin, this for the prompt "Secretive".

Fin was getting used to the sight of his partner hobbling around the bullpen on crutches. What had been ridiculous and giggle-inducing at first had since become part of the normal everyday workplace scenery—complete with Munch’s foot propped up on his desk and pointed directly in Fin’s face.

“Better be a clean sock,” Fin warned as John sat down—with not inconsiderable, awkward effort—and the foot resumed said position.

“Every morning. Though I can’t wait to take a normal shower again.”

“You and me both.”

As scary as it was to admit, Fin was starting to miss having John out in the field with him. And he still wished John would tell him what had happened, how he had managed to injure that foot in the first place.

His curiosity over Munch’s secretiveness about it was driving him crazy. Usually John would tell Fin everything that was going on in his life, whether Fin wanted to hear all the details or not. So the fact that he refused to reveal the truth over this one particular mishap was mystifying.

“How long you gotta stay in that cast?” Fin asked, for far from the first time. He kept hoping John would slip up in answering and give him some kind of clue to go on.

“Six more weeks.”

“Damn. You must’ve seriously done a number on that foot.”

“Mm,” John answered, noncommittal. He picked up a file from the leaning tower on his desk, and was almost convincing in feigning actual interest in his paperwork.

“Skiing,” Fin wagered.

John looked across at him, eyebrows slowly rising. “Excuse me?”

“You went off for a weekend skiing and that’s how you hurt it.” It was the middle of January and they’d had a fair amount of snow since the beginning of the year. It seemed a logical guess. Did Munch have a secret girlfriend he’d taken skiing on a romantic getaway? He had shown up with a new haircut, too, that first day he’d come in with cast and crutches.

For some reason Fin hoped that wasn’t the case. At least the part regarding the girlfriend. He wasn’t quite sure why. But he actually felt a bit relieved when John answered, “Nope. I haven’t been out on the slopes in years.”

Struck down once more. Fin shook his head. He had his own pile of DD-5s to complete, he should be doing his paperwork too, and yet… “Okay, I got it now. You were rearranging the bookshelves in your apartment. A heavy book fell on your foot.” He remembered John telling him recently how he’d gotten a new software program to organize his personal library—though he was anxious about using the online ISBN database in case the government was monitoring people’s choices in reading materials.

“Imaginative hypothesis, but wrong again.”

“Damn. C’mon, man, why won’t you just tell me what went down?” Fin was close to begging for the truth at this point. “It can’t be _that_ embarrassing, not even if it happened during sex.” Fin hesitated, and remembered that this was Munch he was talking to. “It wasn’t during sex, was it?” he added. If it was, maybe _that_ was something about which he didn’t want to hear.

“No. And trust me, if it was? It wouldn’t be the worst injury I’ve suffered in the boudoir.”

“Well you can save that story for some other time,” Fin replied, intrigued but not sure he wanted to go _there_ in the middle of the workday.

“Perhaps. Though I’m thinking that my days of serious oversharing around this office are behind me. It’s not like my open-book nature has always been welcomed. Or returned in kind.” He added the last with another trademark Munch Expressive Eyebrow Gesture.

Fin sighed and rolled his eyes in response. “Are you _still_ mad I didn’t tell you ’bout my son? Is that what this is all about?”

“I’m not mad, Fin. But I am a little…disappointed. I thought we were closer than that by now. That’s a pretty big secret to keep from your partner after all this time.”

Munch might not be “mad”, but he was definitely hurt. And doing a good job of making Fin feel guilty for it, what with that wounded puppy dog act. “Look, it’s just…me and my son, we’re not exactly on great terms these days.”

“Because of the divorce?”

“That, and a lot of other things. I…it’s…not somethin’ I like to talk about much, you know?” It was hard to admit to yourself you were a failure of a father, let alone admit it to someone else. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Though, you know, _you_ never _asked_ if I had kids or not.”

John shrugged. “The fault of the childless, I suppose. We’re used to everyone who _has_ children announcing it as soon as possible in any introductory conversation. I suppose I assumed you didn’t have any when you never brought it up on your own.”

“Hmph. Good point.”

“It’s just the one though, right? One kid?”

“Yeah, just one.” Fin paused, thinking of his son for a moment. He realized it _was_ a little odd that he had a photo of his old dog on his desk, whom he still missed terribly after being gone for several years, but not one of his very own son. He played with the pen in his hand, clicking and unclicking the ink cartridge. “His name is Kwasi.”

“Kwasi Tutuola? Has a nice ring to it.”

“I thought so. He tends to prefer Americanizing it to Ken these days. And using his mother’s surname.” _More ways to distance himself from me,_ Fin thought with regret, _rejecting the name I chose for him and the name of his father’s family._

They both fell into silence for a while, as the rest of the squadroom buzzed with daytime activity around them. John eventually closed his file, dropped it on his desk, and sat staring at Fin until Fin realized he was under scrutiny. “I fell,” John said once he had Fin’s full attention again.

“What?”

“I fell. On a patch of ice outside my apartment building. I was rushing to get inside with some take-out I’d grabbed on the way home from work. Lost my balance, and like an idiot I worried more about trying to save the food instead of my own ass—or foot, as the case turned out to be. Ended up with a fractured ankle _and_ egg drop soup all over my favorite winter coat.”

Fin could just picture it, and the mental image made it hard to stop himself from laughing. “Not nearly as glamorous as a sky diving accident, huh?”

“Not by a long shot. Though the more you and everyone else tried to guess what elaborate scenario had led to my misfortune, the more I started to enjoy not sharing the true story. Fiction can be much more entertaining than the truth. I could at least live vicariously through your creative imaginations.”

“So how do I know you’re telling me the truth now?” Fin asked.

“Because lying about something so pathetic wouldn’t be worth it. Would it?”

“Probably not.”

John leaned forward—as best as he could with his foot on the desk—and said in a low voice, “You sure you don’t want to hear the sex injury story?”

“NO. Not now. Please.” Fin then added with a sly smile, “ _Maybe_ later. If you want I can drive you home, pick up some Chinese, and you can tell me after egg rolls and peanut noodles. If it’s not gonna make me lose my appetite.”

“Depends. You might want to skip the egg rolls. In case they get…bent during transit.”

It only took a second for Fin to put two and two together and then—“Aw man, _ouch,_ ” he cringed, instinctively shifting in his seat.

“Sorry, but you set yourself up for that one. But don’t worry, it was only a temporary setback. Everything was fully functional again in no time at all.”

“That’s nice. But why should the state of your dick be any of my concern?”

“I’m assuming this is a conversation I don’t need to be overhearing,” Elliot said, having picked a very inopportune moment to be passing by.

“Keep walking,” John said, grabbing another file.

Fin made a mental note to find a photo of Kwasi to bring in, and show to John tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Munch's sex-related injury is a tiny reference to the _Homicide: Life on the Street_ episode "Red, Red Wine". If you picked it up, then I send a bent balloon salute to you!
> 
>  


End file.
